


Heed the Warnings

by WandersUnderStarlight



Series: Not Just a Spark [5]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Prowl, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 13:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10967937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandersUnderStarlight/pseuds/WandersUnderStarlight
Summary: This was no cowed, beaten prisoner, this was a chained mecha-tyger waiting for an opportune moment of inattention.





	Heed the Warnings

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Heed the Warnings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16002275) by [FMS318](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FMS318/pseuds/FMS318)



> In listening to the soundtrack of "Little Nightmares" this muse came back. *dabs antiseptic on bite*  
> Definitely going to be one more in this series after this.

Soundwave stepped lightly into the darkness of the cell. The prisoner hung suspended from the ceiling, arms wrapped in physical chains. Normally they would use hardlight chains, but this particular mech was well known for remote hacking, and they couldn’t take the risk of him freeing himself. He was dented and sluggishly leaking energon from several nasty-looking fissures in his plating. Bare wires were left on his sides from where his weaponized speakers had been forcibly removed. His helm was bowed, visor (which sported a spindly network of cracks) off, though the telepath didn’t fool himself into thinking that their “guest” was unaware of his presence.

Sure enough, after a beat of silence, Jazz spoke through the harsh static of a damaged vocalizer. “They finally decide t’ send in th’ big guns, huh?” The blue visor lit, cracked glass refracting the light strangely.

“Fact: Jazz is unaffected by physical torture. Different measures required.”

The black and white mech’s helm lolled back. He let out a mirthless chuckle. “Well, don’ I feel special?”

Soundwave took the moment to let his gaze sweep down the sleek, bared throat cabling. There had been a time long past when he’d been allowed to look his fill at this beautiful mech, to flirt and tease to his spark’s content. Back then, their relationship had been an easy one of mutual respect, though Soundwave might have wished for more every so often. But the war and differing ideologies had changed all of that. 

Jazz was well aware of his own appeal, even injured as he was, and Soundwave’s old interest. He let his helm fall back to its previous bowed position and smirked, visor gleaming with wicked challenge. “So, we gonna dance or what, big guy?” He taunted.

Soundwave said nothing, knowing that getting into a verbal sparring match with the mech would be a mistake. This was no cowed, beaten prisoner, this was a chained mecha-tyger waiting for an opportune moment of inattention. He loosed tendrils of his telepathy into Jazz’s processors. They’d had an interaction like this earlier in the war, back when the betrayal was fresh for both of them. Jazz’s processors had been a maelstrom of sound and flashing colors, insults and attacks. The resulting clash of minds had left the telepath with ringing audials for cycles. 

...Jazz's mind was quiet. That was the first thing that registered. It was such a change from the chaos he had been expecting that it gave him pause for a full breem. Jazz’s presence hovered silently, waiting. Soundwave poked it curiously.

_What-?_

_Shut up and listen t’ me._ Jazz said gravely, all traces of his outer attitude absent. _If ya wanna survive past th’ next cycle, then get all of yar cassettes and leave this base now._

The feelings of foreboding and seriousness caused Soundwave to stiffen.

_You are… worried for me. Why?_

Jazz didn’t answer in words. A barrage of disquieting images and tangled emotions centered around a cold-opticked Praxian assaulted Soundwave. Some of it triggered icy nausea to roil in his tanks.

_He… assaulted you… but professes to… love you?_

_It’s complicated. If he finds out ya were part of the outfit tha’ tortured me, he’ll kill ya, but only after he’s killed everythin’ ya love in front of yar optics._

A quick there-then-not image of his cassettes caused his vents to stall.

_Why tell me this?_

Though Jazz’s face didn’t change, Soundwave got the feeling of a tired smile.

_Ya were my friend once, ‘Wave._

Jazz said nothing more and closed himself off from Soundwave’s telepathic probing, his mind a blank wall.

Soundwave stepped back, unsettled. 

“A little loud in there for ya, Sounders?” Jazz sneered, covering for him.

He said nothing and left the cell.

Gathering his cassettes and leaving the base in the middle of the dark cycle covertly took a little bit of finagling and a judicious use of his telepathy, but he managed it.

 

Two cycles later he received a report of the rescue launched by the Autobots that had left the base as nothing more than a smoking ruin. Autobot Jazz had been freed and the base had been completely destroyed. No survivors. 

A strut-chilling feeling swept through his frame. Morbidly curious, he gathered what footage he could find from the attack on the base. Most of it was corrupted, but he did find a short intact clip from just before the base’s destruction.

He watched with mounting dread as the familiar form of the mech from Jazz’s memories appeared on the grainy screen carrying Jazz in his arms. The Ops mech’s arms were still bound by chains with the excess links wound and wrapped around his frame, as if he’d been merely cut down from the ceiling and bundled up. His helm was lax against the Praxian’s shoulder strut, visor dark. Accepting and submissive in a way that Soundwave had never seen before and did not like.

Then the Praxian turned and glared into the camera, almost as if he could see the mech watching the feed. Those malevolent optics promised pain and death. Doorwings flared aggressively. The footage cut out.

Soundwave shakily reached out with his telepathy and touched each of the bonds to his cassettes, only now realizing just how close to deactivation they all had come.


End file.
